


Shades

by greenkangaroo



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, spoiler: Gondolin is destroyed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 01:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenkangaroo/pseuds/greenkangaroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The death of Turgon, King of Gondolin. This short appeared in a slightly edited form on my tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shades

All was silent. 

This seemed strange to Turukano. He could see in the shadows of his eyes fire and stone; a partition wall had collapsed just over him, and he could smell the fetid flesh of the orcs and goblins beneath the tower’s rubble, trapped with him. 

He reached out, trying to think, to remember, but everything was muddied and dim. There was no past, and no future, simply the moment and the silence of it. 

Then there was a sound. 

A soft, steady crunching; the sound of feet on the stone. They were sure steps, and testing; as they came ever nearer Turukano could discern that whoever was walking knew the rock of his lost Kingdom. 

The steps came to his head and stopped. He opened his mouth- to speak? To beg? Neither of these; he coughed and blood spattered his chin and dribbled down his front to trickle through rends in his armor. 

The newly arrived one crouched. 

The King opened his eyes. 

A pair of dispassionate black ones looked down at him. 

“Is this what you wanted, King of Cowards?” asked Eol the Moriquendi. 

Turukano breathed. It was raspy and painful, like he was filling his lungs with burning thistles. 

“You..” 

He had to be a shade, a whisp, a houseless spectre; yet he seemed whole, in his black armor and long coat, as he had been the day he was executed before his son and seven representatives of the Crown. 

“I recall a conversation we had, dear law brother,” Eol said. “in your dungeons, the night before you murdered me. Do you remember it?” 

Turukano did.

Eol smiled. The smile distorted his pale face, made it not the look of an elf but the pleased grin of a hunting cat. 

“Do you remember what I told you?” Eol asked, almost fondly. 

Turukano stared, unseeing. 

“I do.” Eol stood. “I told you I would dance on your grave, child stealer, wall builder, oath breaker.”

He looked around. “Such a pretty grave you’ve built for yourself, law brother. And do you know what makes it that much more beautiful?” 

He leaned down, whispering as he lifted his booted foot. 

“If you’d given me my son, _it would not be your grave at all._ ” 

The pain in his head was sudden, all encompassing, as though the very weight of Arda had funneled down to a fine point just behind Turukano’s eyes. There was a sharp cracking noise, like an apple twisted into two pieces, and then all was dark. 

Thus ended Turgon, King of Gondolin.

**Author's Note:**

> Do not fuck with ghost Eol. He will rise up and stomp on your head.


End file.
